


Revolution on the Rise

by Niccolò Machiavelli (Piccolo_Machiavelli)



Series: Before the Storm, After the Fire [1]
Category: 15th Century CE RPF, 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Machiavelli - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:51:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9196727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piccolo_Machiavelli/pseuds/Niccol%C3%B2%20Machiavelli
Summary: Marietta senses something fishy is going on.





	

Marietta stood in her kitchen, facing out the window with a stern expression on her face. It had been two weeks since she had last seen her husband, and although she had the company of her children, she could not have been more lonely. She refused to trouble her children with her concerns. 

“Cos’ è? “ asked her youngest child, yanking on the hems of Marietta’s dress. “Why do you seem so sad?”

“It’s nothing, I promise,” Marietta hurriedly tried to reassure him. “I’m just a bit worried about your father’s mission; he hasn’t sent home a letter. I know in my heart he is healthy and safe, but it concerns me slightly… you know?” she patted the boy’s head. He smiled and gazed up at his mother. 

Marietta was able to keep her children busy by feeding them and constantly giving them things to do around the house. It was hard for her to accept that her children were more used to his absences than she was. How unfair was it that they should grow up with their father in another country half of the time?

“Are you certain he’s all right? And what of you, mother? Please don’t mope about! You’ll be fine!” Baccina, the youngest daughter, tried to console her mother. She was growing up to be the spitting image of Marietta, from her looks to her mannerisms. 

“He’s gone. Gone, gone as he always is. It’s not like you could ever expect anything different. I know I haven’t,” Primerana, Baccina’s older sister, said, with a tone more snappy than she intended, but inside, she was trying to suppress the feelings of bitterness and resentment. She did not scream or wail. There were no tears trailing down her face. She accepted his frequent goodbyes with more stoicism than anyone else in her family did. Compassion and morality were not part of her character. 

“La amora mia, please don’t worry. He will come home soon. He always does. Until then, I’ll take care of you,” Marietta murmured. By now, their other three children had gathered in the kitchen to surround their mother. It seemed like a rebellion had assembled in their house.

“I still think something is amiss, and you can’t talk me out of it,” Primerana replied curtly. She crossed her arms, indicating the disconnect and dissonance between her and her family.

“There’s nothing to fear,” Marietta replied, exhaustedly turning towards the window again. She kept her concerns to herself, for the year was 1512, and something was definitely amiss.


End file.
